CHAPTER ONE
Sienna couldn’t believe she was going to be late. Her junior year at the Academy of Arts was starting off with a bang.
What had she been thinking, flying back from summer vacation the day before school started? Her plane had been delayed five hours due to weather. She’d stumbled through the front door of her shared apartment sometime after two in the morning, tossed her bags in a corner, and fallen into bed, fully clothed. Even Liv’s deep breathing—she got mad if Sienna dared to call them snores—hadn’t kept Sienna awake. Four hours later, her alarm had done a crummy job of pulling her from slumber.
This better not be an indication of how this year would go.
Fallen leaves crunched underneath her hurried footsteps. At least she wasn’t the only student running late. She dodged a tired-looking man eating a bagel and a girl whose tangled hair suggested she’d just rolled out of bed.
This semester had to go well. The last two years had been stressful, emotional, and life-changing. All she wanted out of this year was normal.
Sienna pushed open the heavy wood doors to the Livingston Building, tripping over the threshold. The hallway was completely empty, the doors shut tight—definitely late.
Room 101, 103, 105. Sienna peered in the small, rectangular window on the side of the door. Auditorium-style chairs descended toward a large white board at the front of the room.
Sienna slowly opened the door, wincing when the hinges let out a quiet squeal of protest. The room was uncomfortably quiet. Professor Callahan wrote on the white board, the fresh marker squeaking with each stroke. Dark brown elbow patches stood out on his tweed jacket, and she could tell he’d brushed his wispy gray hair into a comb-over, even from here.
Sienna scanned the rows of seats. There had to be an open spot near the back. She couldn’t face the humiliation of walking in late, then prancing to the front of the room for a chair.
A guy in the last row lifted his backpack off a seat. Sienna barely glanced at her classmate, her eyes zeroing in on the chair. She slid into it with a grateful, “Thanks.”
Maybe this semester wouldn’t be so bad after all. Surely five minutes late didn’t mean the whole semester was doomed.
Professor Callahan turned to face the class, capping the dry erase marker he’d been using. His messy scrawl was almost unreadable. Sienna squinted. She was pretty sure at least one of the words was “TV.”
“Welcome to History of Television,” Professor Callahan said, his voice nasally. “You’re in for an informative and exciting semester.”
Only at an arts university would History of Television be one of the options for the required film general. Sienna liked watching TV as much as the next person but had a sneaking suspicion that taking this class would kill the fun. But it had fit into her schedule and seemed like the easiest of the options.
“Television used to be a much under-appreciated art form, often overshadowed by film,” Professor Callahan continued. “But it’s gained in popularity over the last decade and has finally earned the respect it deserves.”
The guy sitting next to her snorted. For the first time, Sienna paid attention to her seatmate.
He covered his face with a dark sinewy hand. “Sorry,” he whispered. “But is this guy for real?”
Her breath caught. Holy cow. The guy was gorgeous. His skin gleamed a beautiful golden brown and inviting hazel eyes had her mouth going dry. His dreadlocks, pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck, made their way to his shoulder blades. Mercy. She could make out a tattoo—some sort of quote—under the cuff of his shirt sleeve.
Bad boys had always been her weakness, and so these days, she had rules when it came to guys.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy the view.
He must be a transfer student—he looked too mature to be a freshman. The Academy of Arts was pretty small, and she’d never seen this guy before.
“You can expect to view a minimum of ten hours of television a week as part of your course assignment,” Professor Callahan said. “I assign the viewing material and require weekly five-page reports. If you’ll turn to page two of your course syllabus, we’ll go over the shows we’ll be covering.”
“TV as homework? I can get behind that,” the guy whispered, leaning toward her. His breath smelled like spearmint, and she struggled to catch her breath without being obvious about it. “You do like TV, right? You’re not one of those purists who only reads Jane Austen and analyzes Van Gogh’s art for fun, are you?”
“Hardly,” Sienna said. “I don’t just like TV—I love it.”
He grinned, revealing two front teeth that were slightly crooked. It gave his smile character.
“Do you lean more toward reality shows or sitcoms?” he asked.
“Reality TV. I love the drama.”
“I’m sorry,” a nasally voice said, “but are we interrupting you in the back row with our learning?”
Sienna’s face flamed red. Professor Callahan glared up at them. She hadn’t been called out by a teacher since high school.
“Of course not,” the guy said. “We were bouncing around the idea of forming a study group. Sorry, Professor. We’ll talk about it after class.”
“Well then.” The professor harrumphed loudly and turned his attention to the syllabus.
Sienna stayed quiet, and so did her seat mate. As the professor launched into his first lecture—an incredibly dull and painfully detailed account of the father of modern television—she was all too aware of the man sitting beside her. Every breath, every shift in posture had her nerve endings dancing.
She kept her eyes stubbornly forward. But she felt his gaze on her intermittently for the rest of class.
“Read pages twelve through eighty-two of your textbook as homework,” Professor Callahan said. “Be prepared for a quiz. See you Friday.”
The sounds of backpacks zipping open and laptop lids closing filled the classroom. Was her seatmate still watching her? She peeked over. Those hazel eyes made her skin flame.
“Sounds like a fun semester.” His voice was deep and raspy when he wasn’t whispering. Maybe a vocal performance major? She’d pay to hear him sing.
“I’m worried it’s going to kill television for me,” Sienna said.
He laughed, exposing those crooked teeth again. He slung his backpack over a broad shoulder and held out his hand. “Aaron Johnson.”
“Sienna McBride.”
His shake was firm without being painful. “Looks like we’re study buddies now, Sienna.”
She raised an eyebrow, exiting the row and waiting for Aaron to do the same. The butterflies in her stomach were going nuts. “Oh, really?”
“Professor Callahan thinks we are. If we don’t put together a study group now, I’ll have lied to a teacher. I’m begging you—don’t force me to be that guy.”
Sienna bit her lip, trying to hold back the smile that wanted to split her face. There was nothing wrong with studying with a handsome man. Flirting with him, even. It wasn’t like she had a boyfriend. The few dates she’d been on with Jared before heading home for a month hardly counted.
“I suppose you’re right,” Sienna said. “I guess I could consider it my duty as your peer to be your study buddy.”
“You could say that.” Aaron pulled out his cell phone. “Let me get your number, and we’ll get together soon. Maybe this weekend?”
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